A Duchess in the Dark (3 page)

The drooping branches of the willow provided a thin leafy screen of privacy. He looked at her, still smiling, and her heart thudded in her chest. “Daphne.” His smile slipped as he placed a hand on her thigh, his touch warm through the fabric of her dress. “Let me come to you tonight.”

She swallowed and looked away. She wanted that more than anything, but it was just too soon. Suddenly, it didn’t seem wise to tell him just yet. What would he say when he discovered she was no longer a virgin? She needed time to untangle this horrid mess. She turned back to look at him. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Not yet.”

Just as she thought he was going to turn away, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. The sensation was pleasant, but not at all what it
should
be. His lips were soft and pliant, but they lacked the warmth and vitality of her stranger’s fiery, unhindered kiss. She pulled back and held her fingers to her lips. There was no passion in Edward’s kiss, not even a stirring of lust.

Perhaps she was just too preoccupied with the events of last night to thoroughly enjoy the kiss. Yes, that
had
to be it.

A
ny luck?” James poised his cue to strike the ball into the corner right pocket. The billiard room was a gentlemen’s haven. Brown velvet drapes flanked the only window and were almost always closed, which afforded some degree of separation and privacy from the outside world—namely, the ladies. The delicate creatures were quite unwilling to venture into this bleak, austere environment.

“That depends on what you consider luck.” Ashton carefully selected a cue from the rack. He settled on ash wood inlaid with ebony. “Three ladies have all but confessed to being my mystery woman. One has denied it, though I’m certain she’s concealing something. And the rest believe I should be committed to Bedlam posthaste. Turns out twitching isn’t a popular line of inquiry.”

James turned to him, suddenly interested. “
Three
ladies, is it?” He slapped Ashton on the shoulder. “Well done, old man. Now we need only separate the genuine article from the rest.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then lifted his finger in triumph. “I just thought of the perfect solution—I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

Ashton positioned his cue and potted a red ball into the corner left pocket. “No.”

“As I see it, there is only one way to positively identify your lady.” James paced the length of the billiard table. It seemed this new dilemma had engaged his fallow mind.

“Dare I ask?” Ashton assessed the placement of the balls, calculating his next shot.

James paused midstride and turned to Ashton. “You must kiss each of the suspected women.”

“And how will that solve my predicament exactly?”

James leaned on his cue, looking rather pleased with himself. “I believe you know, or
should
know, that no two women kiss alike. Surely you could tell your lady’s lips from the others. One kiss, then, voilà, you have her.”

Ashton had to admit there was some merit to James’s skewed logic. His mystery lady had tasted like no other woman he’d ever had the pleasure of sampling. He’d replayed their passionate kiss over and over in his head since waking, recounting every minute detail of her scent, her taste. But if there was one thing he’d learned in his thirty-three years, it was to never disrupt a woman’s emotions. And a kiss, however benign, was sure to arouse some degree of turbulence amid the two losing parties.

“Tempting, James, but I believe interviewing the servants would be better for my physical welfare.”

“Fine, have it your way. Oh, and by the by, Gwendolyn wrote to say she isn’t coming after all.”

Ashton positioned his cue to strike. “Thank God.”

Gwen was a pretty young widow who had a carnal appetite that leaned toward fiendish. She was quite possibly the most vivacious and possessive of all his bed partners. Still, there had always been something lacking between them, something powerful and intense, a cosmic connection that he’d only ever felt with one woman—the woman from last night.

Thoughts of his mystery woman swirled to life in his head. Whoever she was, she’d thoroughly ensnared him. He was desperate to discover her, to kiss her lips and feel again what he’d felt last night. For the first time in his life he didn’t merely desire a woman, he
hungered
for her. He wanted to see her face, roll her name on his tongue, memorize the exact color of her eyes.

James shook his head. “A pretty little widow, mysterious women climbing into your bed at night…” He sighed. “My life should be so complicated.”

Ashton slid his cue back into place on the rack and winked. “See you at dinner.”

As spies went, Daphne was forced to admit she was less than competent. For thirty minutes after the ladies had retired to their rooms for the night, Daphne watched out of a crack in her door for her mysterious gentleman—Ashton?—to appear. He never did. Or rather, she fell asleep—out of sheer boredom—and didn’t awaken until nearly three o’clock in the morning.

Rubbing her sore neck, she peeked out into the hallway. The house was dark, all the occupants having gone to bed—even the men, it seemed, who’d been smoking and drinking in the drawing room for God knew how long. They often stayed up all hours, laughing and drinking, but over dinner, she’d heard them discussing plans to go shooting in the morning, which would require a proper night’s sleep.

Her mystery man must already be abed. The wise course would be to go back to bed, then wake early and try to catch him on his way out. But, Daphne having discovered her own weakness to doze at inopportune times, the prospect of catching a glimpse of this man was getting slimmer by the moment.

No, she must set her mind at ease and see him tonight—if only to assure herself he was
not
Ashton Fitzgerald. It was likely he was well asleep, and all she need do was sneak into his room, glimpse his face, then remove herself before anyone was the wiser.

With a lit candle, she stepped out into the dark-as-pitch hallway, and tiptoed to the room across from hers. Mercifully, the door was unlocked, and she crept in, closing the heavy oak door behind her.

Curiosity gnawed at her as she padded across the room, her breath tight, shallow. Was Ashton truly the man who’d touched her so intimately, who had invaded her every thought since? Fear and anxiety churned in her stomach, making her queasy. If it
was
him, then she’d be no better than the scores of women who fell at his feet—the women he’d cast aside. Could she bear it? Watching him in society, visiting as though nothing had happened?

Holding the candle above her head, she peered into the bed. She held her breath as the flicker of the candle alighted on a man’s form. He had dark hair—she could tell that much—but most men of James’s acquaintance did. And it was impossible to see the exact shade in so little light.

She set the candle on the nightstand and leaned over him, trying to snatch a glimpse of his face. She shouldn’t have, for the shock of it was almost too much to bear. Before sense and reason could take hold, she gasped loudly.

In an instant, a strong, warm hand wrapped around her mouth and pushed her back against the nearest wall. Ashton was a wall of muscle, something she could confirm quite readily now. He wore nothing, not even a scrap of sheet to conceal his indecency. And that indecency was pressed firmly against her hip. Heat spread through her limbs, then pooled and swirled low in her belly.

He waited a moment, his warm breath brushing her cheek, his heated body pressed against hers. He put a finger to his lips, signaling for her to be silent, then released her. The second she was free, she darted out the door and across the hall, into her room. She’d almost managed to get the door shut when he pushed inside, a blanket wrapped loosely around his hips. He closed and locked the door behind them.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.

“What am
I
doing?” He narrowed his eyes dangerously. “I could ask you the same, Daphne, but I imagine I already know the answer. You were my midnight visitor last night, were you not?”

He didn’t look the least bit shocked by the revelation. Had he known it was her all along, just as she’d suspected—
feared
—it was him?

“I—” Should she admit to being the guilty party? She hadn’t ever planned to confess. And now, with his intense gaze focused on her, confessing didn’t seem wise. “Well, I was passing by…” Lord, she was a horrible liar. Her voice shook and her gaze darted to the floor, to the silk-covered wall, anywhere except his face.

He looked at her critically, angling his head to the side as though trying to solve a perplexing mathematical equation. Finally, he stepped forward and captured her chin, then muttered, “Pardon me,” before leaning in and seizing her lips with a kiss.

If there was ever a doubt she’d cornered the wrong man, that doubt was obliterated with the gentle caress of his lips. His hand slid up her neck and cradled her head as his tongue explored her mouth, teasing, tasting.

Panic swelled in her chest—he’d caught her. He’d call her out, tell James, or worse, tell Edward. Everything in her wanted to push him away, deny last night had ever happened. But she couldn’t. Despite herself, she never wanted it to end. She could die quite happily now, with the taste of him on her lips, the feel of his tongue entwined with hers…

When he pulled back, she was almost delirious with want.

“Yes.” He drew in a long, unsteady breath. “You are most definitely the woman from last night.”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to deny it.

He let out a curse and turned toward the fireplace, bracing one hand on the mantel as he gazed into the unlit hearth. The sheet dipped dangerously low on his hips, revealing a shocking amount of skin and muscle. He was all lean strength, coiled tight, ready to unravel at any moment.

He drew in a long breath that marked his annoyance. “I hope you don’t take me for a simple-minded man, Daphne. A well-bred lady doesn’t just climb into a man’s bed unless she’s after something. What is it, money, marriage? Wallingford hasn’t offered for you, so you thought you might entrap me instead?”

The quick succession of insults stunned her silent, and for once, she was completely dumbfounded by his utter lack of civility. She pressed her lips together and straightened her spine. “Indeed, you are mistaken. I don’t want anything from you. When I came to you last night, I thought you were someone else.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, a tic working in his jaw. “You do realize what this means, do you not?”

“Yes, of course.” She smoothed her hands down the skirt of her nightgown. “We must avoid each other’s company for the duration of your stay, lest anyone surmise…Why are you looking at me like that?”

His face had taken on a shocked, almost offended countenance. “I cannot, in good conscience, ignore what happened last night. My honor demands I restore your good name.”

“My good name hasn’t been compromised. Mercifully, only you and I are aware of this little mishap. I’m quite convinced we can both carry on without any ill effects.”

He shook his head again. “Even if we have not been discovered, your chances of making a good match have now been seriously compromised.”

His eyes met hers, and a frisson of heat traveled down her spine. He was referring to the loss of virginity, of course, something she’d already considered. “Edward will understand. He loves me.”

She just prayed she was right. There was really no telling what a man would do when confronted with the news that his soon-to-be intended had bedded another man. But if one could not rely on love, then what else was there?

Ashton pushed off the mantel with a low chuckle. “You truly believe he will turn a blind eye to your indiscretions?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin a notch higher. Regality was difficult to accomplish swathed in a white linen nightgown, but she attempted it nonetheless. “It was an accident, after all.”

Ashton shook his head. “Accident or not, a man like Wallingford values propriety above all else, Daphne. He will want a pure, untouched bride—something you definitely are not.”

Fear knotted in her belly. What if he was right? What would she do if Edward cast her aside? No, he wouldn’t, surely. Edward was kind, steadfast, everything Ashton was not. She must not let Ashton sow the seeds of doubt in her mind. “You are wrong.”

Again, he loomed dangerously close, his strong, muscular body mere inches from her. “Am I?” His tone was a low, seductive growl.

Something like desire swirled through her, and she swallowed. He was far too attractive and the memory of his strong hands gliding over her skin, bringing her to the height of pleasure, flooded her.

She took a measured step back. “Yes. I have complete faith in Edward’s affection for me. So I thank you for your counsel, but it isn’t wanted or needed.”

His face turned solemn. “He isn’t right for you, Daphne.” He took one step toward her, stopping just a breath away. “I know men like him. In the end, he will only cause you pain.”

She shook her head, unwilling to believe it. He didn’t know Edward the way she did. Edward wouldn’t hurt her. He was far too kind to ever do something so callous.

Ashton released a sigh of resignation. “And what exactly do you plan to tell him about us?”

“I haven’t the slightest intention of revealing anything about ‘us,’” she said. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair away from her nape, exposing the bite mark he’d left last night. “I intend to avoid mention of you altogether and convince him I was with someone in my youth. Someone of no importance.”

Ashton trailed his finger down her arm. Tingles followed in the wake of his touch, rousing something wild and reckless within her. “But does he stir your blood, Daphne? Will worship your body, explore your every dip and curve, take you to the heights of pleasure, then back again?”

Daphne bit her bottom lip, heat shimmering through her body. No, she didn’t imagine he would. Edward was a simple, practical man, and if the kiss by lake was any indication, he didn’t have a passionate bone in his body. But she could live without passion, couldn’t she?

“You and me—” Heaven, how did she say this? “Is it always that way?”

“No.” He moved closer, just half a step, as though it pained him to be too far separated from her. “Never. What we have is…rare.”

Gazing up into his intense green eyes, she felt the ground shift beneath her feet. What he said was true, she knew, but admitting it would feel too much like surrender. She’d be no better than her mother, falling for a man who couldn’t possibly love her back. Daphne shook her head. “All of this was a mistake. A simple, foolish mistake.”

His delicious lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Trouble is, Daphne, you gave yourself to me, and mistake or not, I intend to have you.”